


Party Line

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Divorce, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Flashback, Friendship, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-21
Updated: 2008-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three conversations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party Line

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I was intrigued by a line House tossed out in the episode. 3,443 words; a few source notes at the end.

_**Housefic: Party Line**_  
 **STATUS:** Crossposted to [](http://housefic.livejournal.com/profile)[**housefic**](http://housefic.livejournal.com/) and [](http://house-wilson.livejournal.com/profile)[**house_wilson**](http://house-wilson.livejournal.com/) on 2/21/08.  
 **TITLE:** Party Line  
 **AUTHOR:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/)  
 **CHARACTERS:** House, Wilson's three ex-wives, a couple of OCs.  
 **RATING:** PG-13.  
 **WARNINGS:** None.  
 **SPOILERS:** Yes, for episode 4.11, "Frozen."  
 **SUMMARY:** Three conversations.  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** Written because I was intrigued by a line House tossed out in the episode. 3,443 words; a few source notes at the end.  
 **BETA:** My intrepid First Readers, with especial thanks to [](http://pwcorgigirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**pwcorgigirl**](http://pwcorgigirl.livejournal.com/).

  
 _HOUSE: I think I've got it narrowed down to three possibilities.  
WILSON: Better leave, if you see her, it'll be cheating.  
HOUSE: It's not one of your ex-wives.  
WILSON: Because they hate me.  
HOUSE: They don't. They should, but they don't. I called them._  
~ from _House_ episode 4.11, "Frozen"

  
 **Party Line**

  
 **  
_ONE_   
**

Sonia's trying to get the roast ready to go in the oven and Anna to let the dog out when the phone rings. She briefly considers letting it go to the machine, but Jack's pediatrician is due to call and so she picks it up just as Ranger begins barking.

"H'lo?" she says, cradling the phone awkwardly between her ear and shoulder as she starts slicing a clove of garlic. Ranger continues to bark, and she lets the receiver slip down her arm as she turns her head. "Anna? Let the dog out, please? Now, honey?" She grabs the phone before it falls to the floor and resets it on her shoulder, trying to concentrate on both it and the thin, pale spearheads of garlic. "I'm sorry -- hello?"

"Sonia." It's a male voice, deep, almost raspy, and it's not her husband. For a moment she thinks it's Dr. Tucker, but that's wrong because Dr. Tucker is a professional, a colleague, actually, and he calls her --

"Dr. Lindstrom."

And Sonia almost drops the knife then and there, because even though she hasn't heard this voice in ... God, twenty years? more? ... she recognizes it now, clearly.

"Greg," she says. "Greg House."

"Don't hang up," he says, and she rolls her eyes.

"Why would I do that?"

"How should I know?" comes the quick retort. "A lot of people do though."

"Imagine that," she says dryly, and uses the sharp tip of the knife to start cutting tiny slits in the meat, inserting the garlic spears as she works. A little olive oil, a sprinkling of coarse kosher salt and fresh-ground black pepper, and the roast will be ready to go. She glances up. The dog is bounding back and forth in the snowy backyard, chasing the tennis ball her daughter is throwing.

"Yeah," Greg says. "Listen, about Wilson -- "

And Sonia almost drops the knife again, because _of course_ , this is the only reason Greg would call here --

"What?" she says, faintly surprised by the sudden curl of fear in her stomach. "Has something happened? Is something wrong with James?"

"No!" He sounds vaguely exasperated, almost annoyed that she's leapt to this conclusion, and she grits her teeth and stabs viciously at the meat.

 _Bastard,_ she thinks. _No one was ever allowed to care about James but you._

"Wilson's fine. That's the problem," Greg is saying, and Sonia takes a deep breath and forces herself to concentrate on his words. "Have you been seeing him again?"

Sonia's anger drains away instantly; outside, Ranger is barking again as she stares blankly at the roast.

"Greg," she says at last. "Did you even _look_ at the area code as you punched it in? I'm in _Juneau_."

"Doesn't matter," he responds instantly. "They have these things called airplanes now. Sure you didn't get tired of rubbing shoulders with polar bears and penguins, thought you'd drop back down to the _contiguous_ United States, do a little _contiguating_ of your own with the guy you still carry a torch for?"

"I don't think that's a word," she says frostily. "And I'm _happily_ married." To emphasize her point, she pulls the phone away from her ear and quickly crosses the floor so she can open the back door just a crack and shout at her daughter.

" _Anna!_ Bring the dog in now, please, but make sure his paws are clean first -- I don't want muddy tracks on the kitchen floor. Do you have homework tonight? You should start that before daddy gets home." She speaks into the phone again. "I don't carry a torch, as you say, for James or anyone else. I haven't spoken to him in years."

"Bullshit," he shoots back. "I happen to know you've referred consults to him."

" _Professionally_ ," she snaps. "Yes, I've spoken to him for _professional reasons_ , which you would know _nothing about!_ "

"Um, mom?"

Sonia looks around. Anna is there, still bundled up in her bright red parka and keeping one mittened hand on Ranger's collar to prevent him from standing up and investigating the pan of raw meat on the kitchen counter. Jack has wandered into the kitchen also and is staring at her with wide brown eyes.

"You're yelling, mom."

Sonia takes a deep breath. She's yelling. Of course she is. That's what Greg does to people, what he's _always_ done to people. Get under their skin, make them shout without thinking about what they're saying. Trip them up, catch them in a lie.

She smiles at her daughter. "You're right, honey. I'm sorry. We shouldn't yell at people on the phone."

Greg's voice is sardonic in her ear. "Not even at the asshole who broke up your first marriage?"

Sonia's laugh surprises them both. "You didn't break up our marriage. We managed to do that all by ourselves." She knees the dog out of the way and gestures for Anna to take Jack out of the kitchen before turning her attention back to the roast. "We were too young," she says, drizzling a thin stream of golden olive oil onto the meat. "Medical students shouldn't be allowed to marry each other until they're at least second-year residents."

"But you were in love," Greg says, and Sonia pauses as she picks up the blue Morton's salt box.

"Yes," she says slowly. "Yes, we were." She tips a small amount of the faceted white grains into her hand and sprinkles them over the roast. Greg is silent on the other end. The pepper comes next, the cracked corns releasing a pungent aroma as she grinds them, the scent tickling her nostrils. "That's what this is about, isn't it? Why you're calling." She looks at the roast, not really seeing it. "Is James in love? Again?"

"I don't know," Greg admits. "Maybe."

"It was bound to happen again, sooner or later," she teases gently. "You know how James is -- he loves being in love. I don't think he'll ever change."

They talk for a while after that, as Sonia puts the roast in the oven and wipes the kitchen counter clean. She talks about how many woodsmoke alerts they've had in the Mendenhall Valley this year, and about the renewed calls to move the state legislature to Anchorage, and how deep and clear the lakes are in the Tongass National Forest. He tells her about the patient who'd had a breast on the back of her knee, and they talk about the article in the new issue of _JAMA_ suggesting that broccoli extract may aid in reducing UV damage to skin.

By the time she says goodbye and hangs up, the kitchen is warm and fragrant with the smell of the roasting meat, and she smiles as she puts the kosher salt and olive oil back into the pantry. The pepper mill goes back on the table, and she and Anna and Jack are setting out plates and silverware when her husband comes home.

* * *

 **  
_TWO_   
**

  
Bonnie is just about to start dicing up the tofu for the chili bubbling away on the stove when the phone rings.

"Darn it," she mutters. It could be Mrs. Hoskins, though, telling her that the corner loft at the Labor Lyceum is on the market at last, and so she picks up without looking at the caller i.d.

"Hello?"

"Bonnie," Greg House says. "Don't hang up."

Bonnie presses the back of her free hand to her forehead for just a moment.

"Dr. House," she says. "Are you in need of a condo? An apartment? A townhouse?"

"You know I'm not."

"Then we have nothing to talk about. Goodbye, Dr. House."

"It's about Wilson," he says, and just like that, her hand freezes in mid-motion, thumb poised above the _Talk_ button.

"What? Is something wrong?" There's a tight fluttering in her chest like a bird that's had its wings suddenly clipped, and she's thinking _Dr. Cuddy would have called, she knows me, she would have called._ "Oh, God, has there been an accident? Is James all right?"

"Wilson's _fine_ ," Greg growls. "And that's the problem."

Bonnie frowns. She gives the chili a stir, then lays the long wooden spoon back on the little Chinese saucer she keeps on the back of the stovetop.

"I don't understand," she says. "How is James being fine a problem?"

He doesn't answer, and she remembers at that moment -- _Greg House never answers any questions. He always asks them._

And sure enough, he says, "Are you seeing him again?"

The flood of relief is a palpable, almost visceral feeling, and the tightness in her chest loosens as Bonnie realizes this isn't about her or James -- this is about _Greg_ , the same way it's always been. Hector nudges at her feet just then, hoping she's dropped something on the floor, and she smiles down at the old dog.

"I haven't been dragging him off to clandestine assignations in deserted rental properties, if that's what you mean," she says lightly, waiting for the snort of disbelief. When it doesn't come she frowns again. "No, I'm not _seeing_ James. We're just ... good friends." She winces at the clichéd phrase emerging from her mouth, but Greg still doesn't say anything. She picks up the knife again and starts cutting the moist tofu block into even, symmetrical cubes as Hector's claws make little _ticktick_ sounds on the kitchen tile. "The last time I spoke to James was when I needed for him to -- "

Bonnie pauses, then lays the knife carefully aside.

"That's it, isn't it?" she says. "That's why you called. James wants to get married again."

"Maybe," Greg allows. "I don't know for sure."

"It fits," Bonnie muses. "You know James will never change -- he loves to be needed." She angles the phone into a secure position on her shoulder, picks up the knife and the cutting block, and scrapes the diced tofu into the simmering pot of beans, broth, and spices. "Who's the lucky damsel in distress this time?"

"I can't tell you," Greg says. "Doctor-patient confidentiality."

Bonnie laughs. "Well, I probably don't know her anyway." She stirs the chili thoughtfully. "Does she know what she's getting into?"

"You mean with Wilson?"

"I mean with _you_. Does she know that if she marries James, she's marrying you too?"

Greg huffs out a soft breath. "A perpetual threesome. Now _that's_ something I could go for."

"And by always being there, you could break up their marriage that much more quickly."

"I didn't break up your marriage."

"No, you didn't," Bonnie concedes. "But you didn't help either."

"We've been over this before. I'm still not buying a condo to make you feel better."

For a moment Bonnie feels like shouting at him, yelling _"And what would you know about making people feel better?"_ She calms herself with an almost physical effort. _Don't give him the satisfaction,_ she thinks. _This is what he does._ Hector nudges at her foot again, and Bonnie surprises herself by saying, "Thank you for taking Hector when you did. I don't know what I would have done with him otherwise."

There's a short silence on the other end, as if Greg is examining her words, turning them over, looking for traps.

"You're welcome," he says at last, and Bonnie smiles.

They talk a little bit more, mostly about her nephew Jeremy and his new front-office job with the Trenton Devils, and after she hangs up she pours a glass of red wine and stirs the chili again.

"What do you think, Hector?" she asks. "I think it's time for dinner."

* * *

 **  
_THREE_   
**

  
"Julie!"

The voice is warm and familiar, and she looks up from her desk, smiling, just as her boss slides into the visitor's chair. The noise of the busy newsroom fades into the background.

"Russell! It's late -- I thought you were at Jubilee Wu's tonight."

The tall man in the casually tailored suit shakes his head. "They lost my reservation, claimed they were too busy to seat me." He slouches and stretches his long legs. _"We're so sorry, Mr. Smith,"_ he singsongs in a perfect imitation of an arrogant, supercilious _maître d', "but perhaps next time you could make your reservation a little more in advance."_

Julie winces. "Ow. Not only careless but rude and condescending to boot. Can't wait to see the review you give them tomorrow."

"You mean _'Philly's newest hotspot turns away superhero in disguise'_?

"Superhero?" she laughs. "Well, if you equate 'food critic' with 'caped crusader' ... "

Russell's nose wrinkles as he pretends to be offended. "Sometimes a _food critic_ is all that stands between you and a bad oyster, lady."

"I'll keep that in mind. Seriously, what are you doing here? I'd have thought you'd have just gone home, posted your review from there." Her cell phone rings, but she ignores it. Let it roll to voicemail.

"I knew you were working late tonight. When I left here you still hadn't eaten." He shrugs. "Thought I'd stop by Imperial Stick, bring you a little something." And with that he lifts the hidden takeaway sack from behind his chair and deposits it on her desktop. "Since I was already in the mood for Chinese ... " He makes big brown puppy-dog eyes at her, and Julie stifles a laugh behind one hand.

"All right, Super-Foodie," she says. "Let's see what you've got." Her phone rings again, and this time, as Russell unstaples the top of the bag and begins to lift out plastic-capped aluminum trays and little cardboard boxes, she answers it.

"Julie," Greg House says. "Don't -- "

She presses _End call_ immediately and sets the phone aside. Deliciously spicy aromas are beginning to arise from the containers, and some of the other reporters and techies are attracted by them. Russ shoos them away, muttering "Business dinner, business here" as he digs for the cellophane packets of spoons and paper envelopes of chopsticks that have sifted to the very bottom of the bag. Julie's phone rings again -- five times -- but she resolutely ignores it. Russ gives her a curious glance but says nothing. When all of her work folders and papers are pushed aside to make room for the food, the desk top is an expanse of shiny plastic mesas and miniature mountains of white styrofoam. Her few personal belongings -- the framed photos of her parents and sisters, the small purple-plush puppy Russ gave her a few weeks ago ( _"You looked like you needed a dog," he'd said, as he dropped it casually on her desk_ ) -- perch on the far edge.

"Russ, how much did you _buy?_ " Julie breathes.

"Just about one of everything off their takeaway menu," he replies, and starts identifying the containers. "Pot stickers, wild mushroom chicken dumplings, Wuxi short ribs with Szechwan pepper sauce, crispy duck, hot and sour soup, vegetarian _pad thai_ \-- "

"And this is business ... how?"

He grins, and it's that shy, wide-open grin she's beginning to fall in love with, maybe just a little even though she tells herself it's too soon. "New series," he says. "Which restaurants' dishes _travel_ well? Who has the best packaging? Biggest portions?" He looks back into the now-empty bag and frowns. "Who forgets to include the napkins and makes the hungry diner go forage in the employee break room?"

"Go ahead." She begins to carefully pry the lids off some of the containers. Aromatic steam wafts up, perfumed with garlic, ginger, and soy. "Maybe you can use your superpowers to fix the coffeemaker in there."

"With the quality of coffee that comes from that thing?" Russ shakes his head. "I use my powers for good, not evil." He sets the bag on the floor. "Don't start without me."

As if sensing his departure, her phone chooses that moment to start buzzing, dancing a jittery little rumba across the surface of the desktop. Julie whispers a curse and grabs it.

 _1 NEW MESSAGE_ , and against her better judgment, she hits the series of buttons that will bring it up. When it appears on the tiny backlit screen, her breath catches in her throat.

 _ITS ABOUT WILSON_

"Oh, _shit_ ," she murmurs. She's been waiting for this moment, waiting for the inevitable news that will surely come one day -- _Youngest Hospital Department Head on East Coast Killed in Car Crash, Drunken Best Friend Driving_ , or _James Wilson, M.D., Shot By Deranged Stalker, Bullet Meant for Greg House_ , or even _Doctor Poisoned by Colleague in Prank That Backfires_. With fingers that suddenly seem too numb for the job, Julie punches _Recall last number_. It rings once.

"You son of a bitch," she snarls. "What have you done to him this time?"

"Julie," Greg says in that dry, sardonic tone she's always found so infuriating -- the tone that makes her feel about three inches tall. "Nice to hear from you too."

"Don't you 'Julie' me. Is James all right? What's happened?"

"Nothing's _happened_. It's what I'm trying to _prevent_ happening, namely you getting your claws in him again."

"My ... Greg, _what_ are you talking about?"

"So you're not seeing him now?"

Julie rests her head in her hand for a moment, then straightens and brushes back a stray strand of hair.

"Greg," she says slowly. "I'm living in Philadelphia. I'm dating someone."

"Philadelphia's a short forty-one miles away," Greg snaps back. "And you were _dating someone_ while you were still married to Wilson."

"It wasn't a marriage by that point." Julie is angry, angrier than she's been in a long time, and she's doubly pissed off because damn it, she'd never wanted to talk about this again, least of all with Greg fucking House. "You of all people should know that -- I'm sure he told you _everything!_ "

"He never told me anything," Greg says, and just like that, Julie's anger deflates, leaving her exhausted in her chair. Someone nearby clears his throat, and she looks up to see Russ standing there.

 _"No napkins in the break room,"_ he says in that ridiculously exaggerated, semaphoric stage-whisper people use when the other person is on the phone. _"Going to try the third floor."_ She's about to tell him to forget the napkins, they can just use paper towels for all she cares, but he's already gone and she slumps deeper in the chair.

 _My dinner's getting cold,_ she thinks disconsolately, but all she says is, "So you called because you thought James and I were back together."

The silence on the other end is confirmation enough.

"And you thought this because -- "

"He went out for lunch."

Julie sighs. "Are you even listening to yourself?"

"Of course. I'm usually the only one in the room making any sense."

 _Egotistical bastard_ , she thinks, but it's an old judgment without any real heat.

"So that was a clue, which grew into a puzzle, which became a mystery that you simply have to solve. You'll never change, will you?"

He doesn't answer, but then, she didn't think he would. She tries a different tack.

"You can't stop him, Greg. You shouldn't even try."

Greg chuckles. "That's what they said."

"Who's 'they'?"

"Bonnie and Sonia."

Julie can't help it -- her jaw drops, and she wonders dazedly if she looks like one of those Saturday morning cartoon characters.

"You called _all three of us?_ "

"Yep." He sounds very pleased with himself.

She tries to think of something to say, but words seem to have deserted her, and so finally she just says, "I'm ... hanging up now." Damn it, she can practically hear him grinning. "Good night, Greg."

"Good night, Julie."

There's movement across from her -- Russ, sitting back down in the visitor's chair and depositing a stack of napkins and two bottles of water on the desk.

"Sorry it's not jasmine tea," he says. "But what comes out of the machines is almost as bad as the coffee, and they haven't restocked the Lipton bags yet ... " His voice trails away.

"You okay?" he asks. "I ... couldn't help but overhear -- "

"No, no," Julie says. "It's all right. It was just ... " She picks up one of the little soup cups. It's still hot, and she feels abruptly, absurdly grateful for such a small thing. She takes a spoonful, and it's sweet and sour and gingery, with a rich undercurrent of tangy soy.

Just what Russ writes about.

He's looking at her, concern and care on his face.

 _Probably wondering who this 'Greg' guy is_ , she realizes suddenly. She puts the soup down and dabs at her lips with one of the napkins.

"When I was married before," she begins, "my husband had a friend named Greg ... "

~ the end.

 **  
_NOTES:_   
**

The Labor Lyceum is real. More information is [here](http://www.trentonlofts.com/default.php?building=94&name=Labor%20Lyceum).  
The [Trenton Devils](http://www.trentondevils.com/index2.asp) are also real.  
Jubilee Wu's and Imperial Stick are not real. The food that Russ brings to Julie is taken from the menu of a real Philadelphia restaurant called [Susanna Foo](http://www.susannafoo.com/chinese-cuisine-menu.html).  



End file.
